


fragments of life

by Areiton



Series: Find Me In the World [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Growing Up, M/M, POV Stiles, Pining, Puzzles, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent, Slow Burn, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 12:59:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13524780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He's thought about it, of course.What he would do, if Derek Hale came back.





	fragments of life

He’s thought about it. 

It’s been six years since he left Beacon Hills and  _ eight _ since Derek left them--of course he’s thought about it. Those first six months, when things were the quietest they ever got in Beacon Hills, he thought of very little else.

What would he do, if Derek Hale came back. 

And then he left. The Wild Hunt took him, took his  _ father _ and he got the fuck out, and the idea of Derek Hale coming back became this distant nebulous thing, a dream he pulled out every once in a while, a fantasy when he was in museums and coffee shops and saw a muscular stubbly dude. 

But it was never him--it was always a discount version, someone pretty but not pretty enough, someone who caught his gaze before it slid right on past, someone who wasn’t  _ right. _

But he was just that. Distant and nebulous--a part of a life Stiles had left behind. 

And now--

Now, everything seemed shaky and uncertain under his feet. Beacon Hills and the nightmares seem close enough to touch, real in a way they hadn’t been in not nearly long enough. 

The first time Stiles realized he had gone a month without thinking about Scott he drank himself into a blackout and after he recovered from that--and calmed his irate father--Stiles went to a tattoo parlor. It was clean, almost obsessively so, and brightly lit. Sorority girls giggled at the counter, pointed at the flash. Hipsters in too tight jeans and beards watched him as he filled out his paperwork. 

His artist was a purple haired girl named Tally and she asked him why he got it. 

Stiles laughed until he cried and when she asked him if he liked it, after it was done, the black bands stark against his arm, he shook his head, and said, fondly, “I hate it.” 

When he went back six months later, Tally’s pierced eyebrow went up but she didn’t say anything--she didn’t ask any questions and god, he could have kissed her for that--as she inked the familiar triskle onto his wrist. 

A wolf’s paw cut through with an arrow decorated his other wrist a few months later and a geometric fox head covered his shoulder by the end of the year. 

He didn’t think of them often. Sometimes he went days, weeks--months--without thinking about them, and then he’d look down and register the ink on his skin and he’d remember. Allison and Derek’s puppies. The foxhead grinning at him reminding him of the nightmares and Kira. Derek’s was the only one he  _ saw, _ touched and thought of regularly. 

But then Derek had always been different. 

He sat at the table and his father put a cup of coffee near him, near enough he barely need to move to draw it closer, wrap his hands around it to keep from reaching for the puzzle box. 

It was simple, really. A light press and a quick twist and the whole thing came apart, like it was never two pieces of a whole. It was just fragments of stained wood, discarded pieces of a life that wasn’t his anymore. 

They were like his tattoos, he thought. Fragments of a life that wasn’t his anymore. 

But when it was put together. 

When they fit together. 

It was gorgeous and strong and held a tiny secret. A tentative promise. 

The note was unexpected, honestly. 

“What do you want to do?” John asks, and Stiles shakes his head. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Bullshit,” John says and Stiles’ gaze snaps up to meet his father’s gentle blue eyes. 

“Dad--”

“Son, you’ve always known what you wanted when it comes to Derek. And if you think it’s not worth the risk--ok. We can ignore this or we can pack up and leave. We can do whatever you think is best. But--Stiles, he left. He got out. He isn’t Beacon Hills, not anymore.” John says gently. 

“What if--what if I do this and it happens again?” 

“It?” 

“All the bad shit, Dad. What if I bring all the bad shit back into his life--fuck, into  _ your _ life.” 

“You didn’t bring the bad shit into anyone’s life. That was the Nematon. And yeah, I know, you helped wake it. But, kid. That wasn’t here. You calling him--it’s not gonna usher in the apocalypse.” 

Stiles barks out a laugh, but it’s shaky and wet, and John sighs. 

“You know I’ll support whatever you decide, right?”

Stiles nods. Because he does. If there is anything he’s sure of, it’s that John Stilinski will move heaven and hell to support him. 

“I don’t want to run again.” 

“Then we don’t.” John says, simply. 

“I don’t--I miss him,” Stiles confesses, shyly, and John nudges his phone towards him. 

“Then tell him that.” 

He stands and pauses to press a kiss into Stiles’ hair before he retreats to the room Stiles keeps for him. Absently, Stiles is grateful. He can feel the shadows creeping in, the nightmares waiting in the wings. 

Having his dad close will be good. 

He picks up the note again. It’s simple and short, so bluntly Derek it makes his lips twitch. 

_ I miss you.  _

The phone number was surprising. And it wasn’t. 

He punches it in with trembling hands and send the message before he can over think it anymore. 

Then he pieces the puzzle box back together and picks up his tiny note, and phone and takes his fragmented pieces of life with him to bed. 


End file.
